Untitled, or, bless me father for I want to suck your dick
by Lady of Sandwiches
Summary: Sam has a thing for Cas in general, but Sam really has a thing for Cas as a priest. Unapologetic priest!kink. *SEE PROFILE FOR MORE INFO*


Teaming up with Cas on this particular stakeout was a huge mistake.

Not because of the setting - actually, in Sam's mind, a haunted church ranked pretty high on the scale of not-so-shitty hunts, falling somewhere above the white house and somewhere below an upscale beach resort. It beat out grungy bars and dense forests at any rate.

Nor was being with Cas the problem. He liked Cas. Cas liked him, if the frankly fantastic sex was any measure. He and Cas didn't really get much time to themselves, trying to keep their relationship under wraps. (Sam was slowly working up the courage to tell Dean, attempting to avoid Dean's particular brand of overprotectiveness, which probably would involve a salted shotgun, holy oil, and Bobby's help. Until then, secret relationship.) And God, he loved his brother so much, but they had been cooped up in the Impala together for days driving through the freakishly hot american southwest, and if they didn't get away from each other soon, there was going to be a rather vicious fratricide involving a cactus. When the opportunity to split up presented itself, Dean practically threw the two of them out the door, claiming that he didn't want to catch religious cooties.

So: time away from Dean, time with his secret boyfriend, easy hunt in a sweet little church in southern california. What could possibly be the problem?

Castiel's fucking cover story, that's what.

Their current working theory was that the father, a stout man with at least two chins and a strange tattoo on his wrist, had bound some kind of spirit to him and was forcing it to kill members of his parish that he suspected were illegal immigrants of some kind. So far, all the victims were of questionable legal status. Sam and Cas were to infiltrate the parish and try to see if they could glean any information from the people - or identify the father's next target.

It would have been fine if they both pretended to be civilians, but no. Castiel rightfully deduced that they would only really figure out who was being targeted next if they confessed to a priest. So, Castiel, armed with an extremely in depth knowledge of scripture, decided to go undercover as a priest.

And goddamn if Sam hasn't seen anything hotter in his life than Castiel in the frock and collar.

Sam really shouldn't find the sight as riveting as he does, but he honestly can't look away. physically, he's very striking: dark hair, dark clothes, pale skin. The california sun makes his eyes bright with barely held back lightning, clearer than it ever was in the shimmering, crushing desert. Castiel's got the right kind of bearing, too - worldly, and wise, and powerful. Very, very powerful. He holds the power of absolution in his hands and it kind of makes Sam's mouth water.

He usually actively avoids it, but right now, Sam really wants to sin, just so he can confess to Castiel about it. And he's not even a real priest. Goddammit. He's an _angel_ - all the metaphorical power of a priest made physical in his body. The choice to save or condemn is within his hands, and he could crush Sam so easily.

Honestly, Sam is half hard as soon as he enters the confessional. C_'mon man, focus_, he thinks furiously. Case now, sex later, and hopefully Cas will conveniently forget to put on the trench coat when they're done here. "Cas," he whispers through the grate, "tell me you got a lead."

"I believe I do," he says, "Isabel, daughter of Josefina. She fits the profile: suspected illegal immigrant, works at the church in exchange for room and board." The soft gravel of Cas' voice echoes in the small room, and Sam shudders. He fishes out his phone to text Dean. _isabel, josefina's daughter. be careful._

"Awesome job, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

And then there's silence. Sam can't leave just yet; he has to stay in the confessional for a little while longer to make it believable. He has to sit there in the dark with a raging hard on and the knowledge that Castiel dressed as a freaking _priest_ is less than a foot away from him and he can't _do_ anything about it, because somebody could find out. Sam shifts uncomfortably, hisses as the fabric of his boxers shifts over his erection. "Sam," comes Cas' worried voice, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, no, yeah I'm fine," he replies hastily, "just, ah… 'm good."

"Sam," Cas says, and oh _fuck_, his voice is just a little bit deeper than usual, the _ping_ of grace lacing through it, and it's a straight shot to Sam's dick. It can't possibly be an accident. He knows Sam is hard and he is _exploiting_ it, the tease. "Are you aroused?" The _motherfucking_ tease.

When Cas gets like this, when he lets his true voice bleed into Sam's ears, a firm but gentle reminder of what he really is, the worst thing that Sam can do is lie. He grits his teeth, aggressively attempts to overcome his embarrassment - he does not have an exhibitionism kink _he does not_ - and with a pounding heart, chokes out, "y-yeah, Cas, I'm pretty - hard, right now." A low chuckle floats through the grate, and Sam's dick gives an almighty throb.

"Have you been thinking sinful thoughts, Sam?" They've dabbled with this idea before, Castiel the righteous and Sam the sinner, _repent for your sins, Sam_, and it's always been so intense, so cathartic as to make Sam's chest ache. Castiel brings a lightness to his soul with his very presence, when he holds Sam in his arms and tells him that he is forgiven. But they've never gone all out, as it were, with the complete visual and the words to go along with it. Cas is deliberately pushing all of his buttons, and Sam can't do much else but play along.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned," he tests, and he smiles at the rustle on the other side of the grate, the bitten back groan. Two can play at this game. "It has been two weeks since my last confession." Two weeks since they'd last fucked, two weeks since Cas put him on all fours on the crap motel bed and fucked the life out of him. Sam is a little bit antsy.

"Tell me your sins, dear one." He says every word so deliberately, like he is laying out an immaculate altar; not one thing out of place. He touches Sam the same way, meticulously, purposefully. Sam's hips buck up lightly at the memory.

"I - oh - I've been having sinful thoughts, father."

"About?"

Dear God, he is going to make him say it, isn't he. "About you, father."

Cas _mmm_s, low and long, from the back of his throat, like the noise he makes when Sam licks up and down the muscles of his stomach, and Sam nearly chokes. "Tell me." God.

"I…" Sam licks his lips, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. It all comes out of him in a rush. "I think about you all the time, your hands and your voice and - I want the grate between us to disappear, I want to rip that collar off of you, I want to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness from you. Please. God, please." It's kind of embarrassing how crazy Cas makes him. Sam is ready and oh so willing to drop any sense of shame, to prostrate himself, to let Cas do whatever he wants to him, and he thinks he should be ashamed but he really isn't, because it's Cas. It's Castiel, the angel of the Lord, who wants to consort with Sam and do all sorts of filthy things with him, and then hold him afterwards and tell him that he is a good man, and how could Sam want anything more than that?

The air is still, and Sam is acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing. He is awaiting judgement. His blood tingles in his veins, all of it heading to his crotch and leaving him dizzy.

"Sam," comes the low grumble. Sam snaps to attention. "There is no one in the church. We are alone. Come and open my door for me, and then kneel before me." Sam's already halfway up before Cas finishes speaking, scrambling out the door and yanking Cas' open. Cas has his pants open, cock long and hard and _waiting_ for Sam to put his mouth on it, nestled in the black cloth. "Sam," Cas says gently, firmly, darkly. "I said, kneel." Sam crashes to his knees, eyes focused on Cas' crotch.

"Now," and _oh_, when his voice goes honey smooth, like velvet over steel, Sam knows what that means. He inches closer, mouth open and panting, _just give me the word and I'll do it, I'll suck you down in front of God and the world_ - "pray for forgiveness." Sam has Cas' cock sucked down to the back of the throat before he realizes that he's done it.

It's good, always. Cas is a presence in every way, Sam's mouth wrapped around the silky flesh, hot and thick and more heady than any wine could hope to be. Sam feels the weight of hands on his head, fingers wrapped in his hair, pulling and pushing as Sam bobs up and down on his cock. Sam glances a look up, and Cas' head is tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open in a kind of ecstasy that Sam feels completely honored to give him.

Sam pulls off with a long, slow suck, corners of his mouth turned up. "Am I praying right, father?" he asks, saliva and precome dribbling out of his mouth, throat scratchy. Cas looks at him then, one eye brow raised, his mask of indifference not quite enough to cover up the heat in his eyes, and Sam's heart nearly stops from how much he loves him.

"You could stand to be a little more fervent, but it's a start." And Sam happily gets back to praying, every too tight pull on his hair and every sigh that falls from Castiel's lips feeling like benediction.


End file.
